and she's the one with the curls...

i have always been absolutely terrible at sketching. and i know this isn't a great exception but i really like it. i do. any comments, suggestions, anything would be much appreciated! :)

They met
like strangers on a bus
traveling to a town
of no names
and
sunflower dreams.
They met
like they parted,
alone and looking
for each other
in the corner
of their
eyes
where a tear hid from the world.
A tear only the other
could taste.

Hmmph

'I look at the world through a microscope and that is my sense of humour. You use a telescope and that is yours.'
'Hmmph.'

RuKsaK

the beethoven of donna

fill me with that face

dark and beautiful as

intimate words

promise me

you will linger on my lips

lost for a moment

and that

open or closed

my eyes will see

that secret world

only we know of

surround my ears

with the silky ocean

of your whisper

in the pendulous light of

a moonlight sonata

for a man

gone deaf on the world

longing

i dont believe it is the effort of walking

that makes me want to fly

sweating on some

hot dusty road

nothing comes free

and sometimes walking

is my effort of choice

sometimes legs just need stretching

its a cold cruel world

when you cant make choices

im not talking about that

about dodging a reckless car

or hanging onto the mast

after a shipwreck

im talking about who will you find

where you are looking

cause where is surprisingly specific

where determines wholl be there

i mean those of the earth

are found in the city of the road

they roll beside me

trapped in traffic

creatures of the sidewalk

they read books

trying to set their minds loose

upstairs in the library

are anchored to their chairs

littering classrooms with questions

until bells set them free

still to linger outside doorways

grouped by gravity

and on to other questions

but its you who live in the city of the sky

and i want to see you

that makes me want to fly

it is my longing that needs to soar

DISCHARGE

we are discharge.

we are deviant.

we are dark angels with bright wings.

we are dysfunctional.

we are blog art.

discharge2

DISCHARGE - the best art collective in the blog world

and on

footprints in sand.
surf kisses beach.
stars chase sun.
night fades day.

bereft

she stumbles across the dance floor of the moon
having failed to hear the music
she cannot soar and sway
in the sparkle of starlight
she looks for pieces of broken glass
her beast is blind and cannot find them
even though they pain her ancient shuffle
her mind cannot paint a picture
nor her ear transcend
the clank of fork and spoon
nor the hungry growl of her beast
for whom she so urgently
cuts her bread
blindly leaving huge gashes
glaring open
in the tablecloth of the night

she carries cold discomfort
which no blanket can warm
and no pillow can make rest easy

sated – her sleep is profound
as the death she fears
but not easy
there is no waltz
over smooth marble
to glide the night away